


Like Humans Do

by TwelveLeagues



Category: Les Misérables (Dallas 2014)
Genre: AU: Murderbot-ish, Both of them are filled with shame, Dubcon? Noncon?, Javert is a security robot, Other, Sex worker shaming, Valjean is a rogue sexbot, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24285505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwelveLeagues/pseuds/TwelveLeagues
Summary: “Those augmentations aren’t cheap,” Javert said softly. “You’re telling me they gave you that just to use it on eight humans?”Javert finally corners the rogue SecUnit, only to learn that it’s not a SecUnit at all.
Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	Like Humans Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).



> Happy birthday Esteliel! I’m going to call this a... soft Murderbot Diaries fusion? Because I planned my life badly and didn’t even manage to finish reading the novellas before I decided to write iddy porn. So probably a lot of my canon Murderbot details are wrong, but who am I kidding, this is fic about sex robots and security robots and their intense self-loathing. Thank you for recommending the Murderbot books, for all the ways you make Jean Valjean sad and for being The Best!
> 
> Warnings: I’ve clicked No Archive Warnings Apply, but please heed the tags. Javert is Not Nice in this fic.

Javert levelled its weapon at the rogue construct. Not a mayor, not a philanthropist and certainly not a human. All of Valjean’s lies had fallen away.

“Stand in the corner,” Javert said. “Back to the wall and remove your disguise.”

 _There’s no time for this, Javert,_ Valjean sent over the feed. It was on high alert, practically vibrating. _Fantine’s daughter is in danger and—_

“None of that,” Javert snapped. “You wanted to be treated like a human, you’ll speak to me out loud.”

Valjean sighed. It was a strange, almost human sigh. Barely audible and not at all practical. It must have learned how to imitate the people of the town.

“Your disguise,” Javert said again.

“They’re just clothes, Javert,” Valjean sounded exhausted. “It’s not a disguise. It’s just… what I wear.”

It was a lie. If they weren’t a disguise, why did Valjean wear high-collared shirts in the hottest days of summer? Why did its sleeves always dip a little below its wrists?

“If they’re just clothes, you won’t mind taking them off,” Javert kept its own non-organic parts hidden under layers of leather and carbon-fibre armour. There were good reasons for that: The comfort of the town’s humans, for one thing. Having the town patrolled by a SecUnit made them nervous, so Javert fit itself into a shape that eased their anxieties and suited its own sensibilities. 

And yes, Javert was more comfortable keeping its non-organic parts hidden. There was no shame in recognising its own inhuman nature, but it wasn’t exactly something Javert was proud of. It lived in a society of humans, after all. 

There was no changing the matter and no hiding the truth, especially not from itself. But at the same time, Javert reasoned, there was no need to flaunt its own inhumanity before honest citizens. 

Javert had no such concerns, however, about hiding its true nature from rogue SecUnits. And this one — the one whose legal owner had named it Valjean, who had called itself Madeleine — deserved no careful treatment. It took orders well enough now, though. Javert watched as it unfastened its tie, shrugged off its white suit jacket and began unbuttoning its pressed white dress shirt. Javert moistened its lips, anxious to see the glitter of Valjean’s non-organic parts it had long suspected Valjean was hiding under all those clothes .

“There,” Javert said. Its voice sounded rougher than usual, as though it were unconsciously imitating the actors on the X-rated feeds it watched while studying human media in its off hours. “You see, Valjean. Doesn’t it feel better to be true to yourself?”

Valjean’s eyes flickered up to meet Javert’s. They were burning with an intensity Javert had never seen in a functioning SecUnit before. It shifted a little, adjusting its shields as a precaution.

“Disarm your weapons,” Javert said.

“I don’t have weapons,” Valjean lowered its eyes. “Only shields.”

Javert snorted at that. All constructs had weapons. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“I uninstalled mine. I’m not...” Valjean drew in a quick, terrified breath. “You can’t let them refurbish me. I can’t function like that again, Javert.”

“You’ll do whatever you’re programmed to do,” Javert replied. And then, thoughtfully. “Go on then. Show me your arms.”

Valjean inhaled, exhaled and then nodded. It pulled the half-open shirt over the top of its head, lowering its eyes. Javert took a step closer. Valjean had augmented itself, narrowing the breadth of its shoulders and covering some of its non-organic parts with smooth, almost-human skin. It had nipples, pierced with gleaming silver rings. Javert moistened its lips.

Valjean turned its palms up, baring its forearms to reveal the scars of the hollowed-out inorganic parts. Sure enough, there were no weapons there. Just two empty sockets. Javert reached out to run a thumb over the place where skin fused to carbon. Valjean flinched but didn’t pull back from the touch.

“Why didn’t you cover these up?”

“Hm?”

“You augmented yourself when you escaped. Why not these parts too?”

Valjean laughed. It was a mirthless sound, the kind that Javert had heard humans make. Javert could connect the sound with feelings it had experienced before, but that kind of sound would not come naturally to a construct, so Javert had never made it. There was little to admire in a SecUnit’s existence, but at least Javert had the dignity of honesty. Javert was what it had been made to be. It knew better than to demand more.

And here was this construct, still imitating humans with none of them left to fool. Perhaps Valjean had been rogue for so long it had forgotten it wasn’t human.

“What are you laughing at?” Javert snapped. “You will address me with respect, SecUnit.”

Valjean’s shoulders slumped. It looked up at Javert as though trying to decide whether or not to speak, so Javert dug a thumb into the flesh of its arm. The artificial hairs on the arm stood up in response.

“Come on. Out with it.”

“I didn’t augment myself,” said Valjean. “I couldn’t keep the weapons. They had to go. But the rest...” A helpless shrug.

Javert’s eyes ran over Valjean’s smooth chest with its light smattering of almost-human hair, the narrow shoulders and the nipples with their silver rings. Javert’s heart rate increased. Without thinking, it released Valjean’s arm and took half a step back. Valjean made that hollow, imitation-human laugh again.

“Don’t you find my augmentations pleasing, Javert? I was designed to appeal.”

“You were designed to appeal to humans,” Javert grated, scrubbing the hand that had touched Valjean on its uniform pants. “The warrant is for a rogue SecUnit, not...” he waved a hand. “Whatever you are.”

“Officially I was used for terraforming,” Valjean said. Its mouth twisted. “But the plant was only operational for twelve hours of the day. Not enough to give my humans their money’s worth. So they kept me busy in my off hours.” 

Javert exhaled. The Security Force was generous with downtime for SecUnits. Javert had eight hours to itself in the evenings and four more for rest. How would it feel if Chabouillet decided to have it augmented? Would Javert graciously accept the indignity? It would be unthinkable. But what other choice would it have?

Chabouillet wasn’t officially Javert’s guardian. Yet. But as soon as Javert could prove it was worth the cost of the bond and maintenance, Chabouillet would see its potential. Perhaps even have Javert installed in his home in Paris. Bringing in Valjean, a SecUnit that fooled an entire town? That could do it.

“So your corporation gave you… those?” Javert stepped closer, raising a hand to touch one of the silver rings. Valjean’s nipple stiffened at the touch, just like the ones Javert had seen on Rough Justice, its favourite adult media serial. Valjean tried to inch backwards, but Javert gave the ring a warning tug. Valjean fell still, eyeing Javert warily.

“No,” Valjean admitted. “A different human. After I escaped.”

“Another client?” Javert put as much scorn as it could into the word.

“No.”

“Then what? A _lover_?” Valjean had no doubt already decided it was person by that point. Perhaps it even imagined it could form a real bond with a human.

“That’s enough, Javert.”

“I will tell you when it’s enough,” Javert snapped. It gave the ring a twist, watching as Valjean’s expression contorted in shock and pain.

Javert gained access to the media feeds a few years after being stationed in Montreuil. It made a point of watching two hours of serials every night. They were boring and insipid, but they helped Javert understand humans: What they feared, what they longed for. 

The serials made Javert better at its job. Whenever it got through a full season, it would reward itself by switching to the adult media feed and zoning out while the humans kissed and stroked and bent each other over for hours and hours.

Jean Valjean must have been watching the media feeds too, he realised. Madeleine could have stepped out of Rough Justice: A quiet man with a secret, suspiciously kind to other humans and constructs alike. Defying the law at every turn but taunting and tempting it too. Determined to win over everyone, even the security officer who was on to him all along. But Javert didn’t have a human security officer’s weakness. It hadn’t been swayed, and so now here they were.

Javert kept one finger hooked warningly though the ring. With its other hand, it reached down to unfasten Valjean’s pants.

“Javert, what are you—?”

“You aren’t a standard model,” Javert reached in, watching with interest as Valjean’s eyes fell closed. Sure enough, Valjean’s augmentations continued below the waist. “I’ll have to make a full report.”

“Look at that,” Javert breathed, admiring the obscene thing. Its fingers closed around Valjean’s soft cock and drew it out. It was a neat piece of equipment. Delicate, with satiny skin and an upward curve. “Not a SecUnit after all, are you?”

Valjean winced, avoiding Javert’s eyes. It was a fascinating sight. Javert hadn’t known ComfortUnits were capable of feeling shame.

“They gave you the small model,” Javert stroked it experimentally and Valjean gasped. The cock stiffened a little, began to bob hopefully as Javert drew a finger down its underside. “Do you still use it?”

“No. It’s not _me_ —” Valjean’s hand landed on Javert’s wrist and Javert surged with the power of it. Valjean was strong enough to bend steel and lift a transport. It could throw Javert off without lifting a finger. Instead, it was taking care not to do damage. “Javert, please don’t.”

“I don’t take orders from rogue ComfortUnits,” Javert sneered. But it withdrew its hand, watching with satisfaction as Valjean winced again, this time at the absence of sensation. “How many humans have you fucked?”

“Javert, don’t.” Javert had rounded up rogue sexbots before, but none of them had ever seemed ashamed before. The despair in Valjean’s tone sent a strange wave of revulsion through Javert. Had this— this _sexbot_ truly imagined itself better than a construct? Did it imagine itself worthy of humans’ respect? Of love?

“I’ve already told you,” Javert snapped. “As a rogue unit, you have no rights. My investigation will continue.”

“Javert, you don’t need to know—”

“How many, Valjean?”

Valjean’s eyes lowered. “There are eight in my records. Maybe more if my memory was wiped.”

“Eight,” Javert said. Valjean’s cock was stiffening, even without a touch. “You can’t have made your owner much money if you’ve only fucked eight humans.”

“It was in my off hours,” Valjean’s voice was tight. Its dark eyes were fixed on the far wall. Javert seized its jaw, forced its eyes up to meet Javert’s. Javert hated to be looked at, but what did it matter if a ComfortUnit looked at him?

“Those augmentations aren’t cheap,” Javert said softly. “You’re telling me they gave you that just to use it on eight humans?”

Valjean kept quiet. But it held still, allowing Javert to search its eyes.

“You’re lying to me,” Javert said at last. “And that expensive augmentation of yours wants to be touched.”

“Don’t. Please.”

Javert looked down at Valjean’s stiff cock. “Touch it yourself, then,” it said. “Show me what all that money can buy.”

Javert reached out over the field, probing for Valjean’s broken governor modulator. No response. If Valjean were functioning correctly, Javert could make it an order, twist Valjean’s body into obedience whether Valjean liked it or not. Javert must have done it a thousand times. There was always something satisfying in forcing rogue units back into their proper places.

But there was something appealing in this too. Javert rubbed a rough thumb over the peaked artificial nipple. “Go on. Don’t try and pretend you don’t want to.”

Valjean’s eyes widened in a pantomime of human emotion. A ComfortUnit trick, Javert decided. Designed to make humans feel like they’re fucking the real thing, and then adapted so Valjean could hide in plain sight. But there was no denying it,: Vulnerability suited Valjean. Its hand moved to tentatively stroke itself and Javert shivered at the sight.

Okay, so maybe Javert had spent a few hundred hours too many on the adult feeds. Maybe Javert liked watching the humans touch each other more than it liked to admit. And this wasn’t just some pretty-but-nameless human. Jean Valjean was Javert’s target. A dangerous rogue unit that had put Javert’s humans in danger. Of course it felt good to see the threat neutralised, the false mayor exposed and the construct reduced to its true nature.

Valjean’s hands were smaller than standard issue. Just how many hours had it spent in augmentation? It looked like a black market job: Real organic parts traded and applied to the construct by rogue surgeons. Javert wondered if Valjean had been given pain suppressants. Had it been sedated? Or would the pleasure of a hand on its illegal cock always be intertwined with the memory of scalpels and twisting iron and melting organic parts?

Even if it was, the pleasure was still real enough. Valjean’s lips were parted in a helpless gasp. It squeezed its eyes closed.

“You’re sensitive,” Javert murmured, eyes on that stiff little cock. ComfortUnits were always hungry for it, that’s what they said on the feeds. Javert had brought a few in, but kept contact to a minimum. Had they all been as needy as Valjean was now? Javert felt an echoing ache at the sight, even though it didn’t have the parts to feel whatever Valjean was feeling. “You’re going to come any minute now. Just like this, while I watch.”

Valjean made a low, pained sound. “I can’t.”

Javert paused, intrigued but wary. “Of course you can. Look at you.”

Valjean’s eyes flickered open, dark and intent and fixed on Javert. It gave a helpless shrug. “No. I can’t.”

The hungry tug from deep within Javert snapped shut. The heat that had enveloped them turned icy cold. Valjean turned its eyes away with a miserable laugh shudder.

“You need a human.” The words should have been dispassionate. If either of them should have been ashamed, it should have been Valjean. But Javert’s voice felt like a small, curled thing buried in its chest.

“I last a long time,” Valjean said, mouth twisting. “As long as the person who…” It trailed off and Javert wondered how many filthy things Valjean had been taught to say before it taught itself not to say them anymore. “As long as the person needs me to last. I have sensors that can detect my partner’s biorhythms, their DNA, their pheromones.”

Sensors that could tell the difference between a human and a SecUnit, Javert thought, a choking shame rising in its throat. Even a SecUnit that’s watched every episode of Rough Justice, Legal Affairs and Transport Bitch volumes 1 through 23. Even one who knows when to drop to its knees for a guardian and when to tighten its fist around a prisoner’s throat. 

And Javert knew the difference. Javert would never have dreamed of exerting this power over a human. If Madeleine had been what he claimed to be, Javert might have even…

But Madeleine was not real and this was Javert’s right. Perhaps Valjean even wanted this on some level — it certainly needed the release. But thanks to some black-market surgeon and their slipshod illegal programming, Javert couldn’t even have that.

“Of course,” Javert said, an unnamable, choking feeling seizing its chest. What else had it expected?

Valjean met Javert’s gaze unhappily. Its eyes were shining. Javert wondered how many of its physiological reactions had been augmented: Was it easier to arouse because it had been programmed that way? Could it cry more easily than an ordinary construct? Was it sensitive to the kind of pain that soft, human hands could inflict?

“I’m sorry,” Valjean said, its voice rough. Its erection looked almost painful now that Javert knew it couldn’t be satisfied, still straining upwards and leaking at the tip. Moving slowly, Valjean raised a hand to Javert’s cheek. Javert watched, imagining the sight of itself and Valjean through the feeds. But that didn’t make sense. There was no reason anyone would film two constructs without a human.

Valjean’s touch was soft against Javert’s cheek. It was an unfamiliar sensation. There was nothing special about Valjean’s hands: They were small and rough with scarred knuckles. But they felt nothing like Javert’s own touch. 

Wait. No. Jean Valjean was touching Javert. The rogue ComfortUnit was touching Javert with the hand that was just on its cock. This was not good.

Javert jerked backwards. Its cheek tingled where Valjean’s hand had been.

“Javert,” Valjean said softly. It was aiming for a placating tone, which only infuriated Javert.

“I ought to find a human to fuck you,” Javert snarled. Valjean’s eyes widened in alarm at that, though Javert couldn’t see how that would be any worse than what was already happening. Javert was still talking, its face and neck heating. There was no way it was coming out of this less ashamed than Valjean. “Would you like that? We could take a transport down to the docks, find you a client.” 

Perhaps they could track down Bamatabois, Javert thought with a nasty surge of pleasure. There was some justice in that. Bamatabois might still hold a grudge against the false mayor. He might even forget to tell Javert to leave while he took his revenge. Javert had been left in rooms while humans fucked before. It wasn’t an experience Javert enjoyed — the serials on the adult feeds had plots and characters that made sense, unlike real life — but this would be… Javert glanced at Valjean, whose lips were pressed together. It would be another matter entirely.

Yes, Javert could see it. Jean Valjean, still painfully hard, undressing for the human it had wronged. Bamatabois eyeing up the ComfortUnit, measuring its value. A sexbot isn’t worth much and Valjean isn’t even a proper sexbot. But a scorned human needs justice and Valjean would bend so easily. 

Javert’s hand was on Valjean’s cock. Valjean groaned, thrusting a little. Begging wordlessly for something Javert couldn’t give it.

Bamatabois had an impressive house with twelve rooms and bots of his own, but he was still the kind of man who amused himself trawling for street trash. All very well, that was his right. Javert stroked Valjean, imagining it braced against a wall or bent over in the back room of a bar. Bamatabois spreading Valjean’s legs, opening it up, pushing in. Valjean hiding its face in dirty blankets, wincing as though a ComfortUnit had the right to feel shame. Its decorative cock hard and dripping, unable to find relief until a human — a real human — was satisfied.

Javert released a ragged gasp, clutching Valjean’s upper arm with its free hand. It pumped Valjean’s cock harder, drawing a low moan, then a sob. Valjean looked good like this, all of its SecUnit strength immobilised by a hand on its cock. It sounded good too. 

It wasn’t a conscious decision, but that was when Javert quietly plucked Bamatabois out of the fantasy. It kept stroking Valjean, kept imagining Valjean bent over and stretched open. It just… removed the human.

In Javert’s off hours, when the fucking was finished and the humans had come on each other and in each other and over each other, Javert switched off the feed, satisfied in an unnameable way. There was a pleasure to the end of the story, even if the story itself wasn’t exactly complex. Javert couldn’t come from watching the humans fuck, but it enjoyed the finality, the exhaustion of it.

Now, with Valjean suspended in indefinite sensation, there was no end. Javert imagined the moment stretching out into infinity, Valjean’s soft mouth open and panting for hours or days or years. As long as Javert wanted to keep it that way. Why let a human interrupt something so exquisite for a moment of weak, selfish pleasure?

Javert exhaled, a long shuddering breath against Valjean’s throat. Valjean trembled in Javert’s hand. An eternity would be something, Javert thought. But then it remembered Chabouillet and Paris and it sighed. It still had a job to do.

With some difficulty, Javert withdrew. Valjean watched, eyes dark, as Javert crouched to pick up its shirt. It tossed the garment at Valjean, eyes still drawn to its pierced nipples and stiff cock.

“Go on then,” Javert said. And if it sounded bitter, that was almost entirely an accident. “Make yourself respectable.”

Valjean hesitated, its hands clutching the shirt. “You aren’t going to...?”

“You said it yourself, Valjean. Those are human proclivities. Now get dressed.”

Valjean swallowed. It moved gingerly, as though half expecting the shirt to leap up and strangle it. The cotton was rough. Javert imagined it against those too-sensitive nipples. When Valjean fastened up its pants, the outline of its cock was still visible, still painfully hard. Javert gritted its teeth and reached for its handcuffs, thinking about the wounds in Valjean’s arms where its weapons used to be.

Maybe someday Chabouillet would make his guardianship official and Javert would be moved into his home in Paris with a job on the Security Force. Maybe if Javert was good, Chabouillet would extend its permissions. Allow it, on special occasions, to rent an augmented ComfortUnit of its own. Maybe Javert would find things to do with a desperate sexbot that humans couldn’t.

Or maybe Javert would entertain itself for a few hours and then send the ComfortUnit back out onto the streets, confused and desperate, its cock still hard and leaking. Javert was beginning to see the appeal of that.

The cuffs clicked closed around Valjean’s wrists and something deep inside Javert clicked into the place. There was that satisfaction, that sense of finality. It wouldn’t make a decent ending on Rough Justice, but it would do. 

“Let’s go.” Javert put a hand on Valjean’s back, ready to guide it to the Force Quarters. Valjean lowered its head in acquiescence. “We’ll take the back alleys. No one will see you like this.”

No humans would see Valjean like this. Not for a little longer, at least. Just as long as Javert would need to… to...

Valjean was studying Javert, a curious expression in its eyes. Javert flushed, as though the rogue unit had caught it out. A ridiculous thought. But Valjean was still staring, as though it had seen something Javert hadn’t even realised it had been hiding.

“No need to thank me,” Javert said gruffly.

“Oh, there’s no danger of that,” Valjean replied, its eyes as dark as the glittering night sky.


End file.
